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It happened the day Morgause attacked the castle of Camelot with her sleeping spell. The streets of the Lower Town were deserted, and so were the narrow lanes of the Southern Village. The castle halls were empty as well. The reason was not the spell of Morgause, the reason was different, but Morgana couldn't grasp it. She kept walking the lonely halls and chambers, shouting and calling for people - but there was not a soul to hear Morgana. Not a single soul – except for one.

He appeared out of the King's Wood - barefoot and crownless, his black cloak sweeping the dust of the road. Of all people, it was Uther who was not sleeping. It was Uther who heard her call and who was a step closer with every breath she took. Morgana didn't want to meet him, she felt she'd rather be freezing in snows than meeting Uther, but she couldn't understand why. What was she so afraid of? What was there about his slow walking that inspired such horror? Suddenly, she heard the doors shut - some force was locking all the ways she could use to escape from Uther.

The doors were clanging, and a sense of something irrevocably wrong and sinister began to spread across the castle. However, she could not be afraid - not in front of Uther. She would never let Uther feast on her fear. I am strong now. I am not afraid. Not anymore. Uther stopped at the Western Bridge and gave her a sad look. She realized something was wrong with him - it was not the Uther she remembered. This one was sad, sad from the silence that hang between them, the silence where a secret was brooded. It was the secret Uther wanted to share, but something would stop him. His expression was a study of despair, and before long, Uther started crying, and blood ran from his eyes.

Morgana woke up screaming.

She heard some noise in the darkness of her tent, and felt his fingers clutch into her skin. Alvarr seized her by her shoulders and kept shaking her, muttering her name. Only when she recognized his sour smell on her mouth did her screams stop.

"Morgana, hear me! You're fine! Fine and safe! You're with me!"

She heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the tent.

"Alvarr?! We heard screams! What's happening?!"

The voices frightened her at first, but then she remembered Alvarr had taken two of his most trusted companions to accompany them on their journey to Essetir tribes of druids. Her breath began to adjust to the calmness of the night. I just saw a bad dream.

"Morgana saw a nightmare! She's fine!" Alvarr shouted through the dense cloth of the tent. "You're fine, aren't you? Morgana, look at me. Look. At. Me. In my eyes. You're safe. You can't be foolish enough to believe I'd let any harm befall you?"

She breathed in and pressed herself into his embrace and spent some time in his arms, helpless. In his arms, she felt more secure than behind the thickest walls of the mightiest castle. Her breathing, however, remained hysterical.

"I saw Uther," she said, feeling a teardrop escape her left eye. She shuddered, remembering the tears of blood on Uther's cheek.

"Uther's dead. This was just a nightmare," Alvarr said. 

"It didn't feel so. It felt like... like more than just a dream," Morgana whispered.

"Then what was it about?"

"I saw Uther return to Camelot."

Alvarr held her tight and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"See? That's why it's just a dream. Uther can't return to Camelot. He's decaying in his grave."

Then why is he haunting my dreams, Morgana thought, refusing to leave Alvarr's arms.

"You best try and save yourself some sleep. We have a full day of ride ahead of us."

She did try to save some sleep as she and Alvarr were cuddling each other beneath the sleeping coats. It wasn’t working for her, although Alvarr was snoring in a couple of minutres. His ability to fall asleep in a blink of an eye seemed equal to magic to Morgana, whose own sleeping habits had been subjects to physician's special treating since her childhood. Alvarr says that a warrior who hasn't slept enough would be weak at the battle field.

She waited for his snoring to get sonorous before she slipped from beneath the coats and crawled out of her tent, barefoot. The night was of velvet blackness, and the young moon had already set. Morgana found herself listening to the fields wrapped in moonless darkness, thinking about whether the peace around her should be disturbed by the tongues of fire flames.

She enjoyed the coolness of the earth beneath her feet. Wind was pressing chilly kisses to her skin, barely covered by her thin sleeping gown. Her hair looked like a bush where the birds would gladly nest, but Morgana didn't care much about it. In point of fact, she enjoyed the liberty of her new looks. Under no circumstances would she ever be allowed to dress freely at court, and when she tried to bring something new to the dull fashion paraded by the old hens and young chickens of ladies in the castle, she'd become the main subject of kitchen gossips.

Morgana smiled as she kept looking at the sky, trying to count the flickering diamonds of the stars. For the first time since escaping the depraved clutches of the castle of Camelot, Morgana was wondering whether they were talking about her in Camelot kitchens. Does anybody in the castle even care about me now that Uther's dead? Only Gwen, I reckon. She was always caring. Unlike other servants, she was really faithful to me, it was the faithfulness that overwhelmed the lines of duty. I would've made friends with her had Uther not been watching me and all the friends I was about to make, always ready to carefully hand-pick them for me instead of letting me choose them on my own.

Well, Ravenna was the least stupid of them all, but she had little sympathy for me, whatever the reason. Well, I had little sympathy for her, too. Her pride for being a part of House Dindrane was always ridiculous. Who else? Ewina of House Sagramore, but her wits have been lost somewhere, that's for sure. All she ever wanted was to marry a tourney champion, whoever this champion was. Poor thing. At least she never boasted off her family name, but she kept repeating her father was a Councilor of Camelot all the time. As though it made him a decent councilor. I should have been the Councilor of Camelot. I knew her people and her problems and I had a couple of ideas to solve them.

Starlight was drifting through the night, reminding Morgana that there were more pressing matters in the world than memories about all the people she couldn't make friends of. They had spent the previous day on the ride, having left the druid camp with first light. After returning from the castle of Idirsholas, Morgana reported the conditions of the fortress to Ruadan, and suggested little that could be done to turn it into a proper holdfast for five thousand swords Morgause had sworn to bring from Essetir. Alvarr had instructed his warriors about the plan to attack Jarl’s Fortress and capture his wagons, so that Morgana would have means to transport food she’d find in Essetir tribes. If they agree to give me any food at all.

Morgause. Morgana knew her sister would not be very happy if she learnt that Morgana undertook a trip to Essetir druids. But she would understand. I had to do it. How else am I supposed to find provision for the castle of Idirsholas? I couldn't send that toothless Lochru. He is as slow as a hedgehog. Besides, if I am lucky, she will not discover it. She left for Essetir three days ago and told me not to expect her in less than a week. If my talks with the druids are successful, I can return to Idirsholas quicker than Morgause.

It wasn't only her sense of duty that sent her to Essetir. It was also the sweet opportunity to travel with Alvarr, who seemed more understanding than any of the knights or lordlings who tried to court her in Camelot. He is fine with us holding hands for now. And it's what I need. I haven't had anybody to hold hands with in Camelot. Haven't had anybody to learn and to explore. Whenever someone appeared in Camelot, it was bed and marriage at once, that’s all they ever asked for, and how the bloody hell was I supposed to decide? By a single look at their face?

The tent cloth made a sound behind her back, and when she turned around, she saw Alvarr crawling out.

"You scared me," he accused her. "I woke up and felt you gone."

"I just couldn't fall asleep. Thought breathing some fresh air would help."

"Why are you in the darkness? You could've started some fire."

"I didn't think it was a wise thing to do."

"It is now. Go. I love to stare in flames. One could stare in flames for hours."

Morgana smiled and felt her body captivated by the tension of the promised sensation. Magic. She looked at the fireplace and let her gaze get rooted into the very being of the firewood, and then she aligned her will and her body in an act that was neither physical nor mindful, and the wood was caught in flames. She sat down beside Alvarr, putting her head on his shoulder.

"Why you love fire so much?" she asked, running her fingers along the length of his arm.

"All druids love fire. Comes from our nature."

"Is it wrong that I love fire, too?"

"How can it be wrong? You're a niece of dragonlord."

"But I am also a priestess of the Isle of the Blessed now."

"So you've been told by Morgause. In truth, you can't be a priestess without initiation. Have you been initiated?"

"Not that I remember," she shrugged and let the dance of fire take over her mind.

It was indeed a beautiful sight - to watch something so raw, uncontrollable and elemental contained within a man-crafted construction. A forest fire was a terrifying force, but a cookfire was a useful ally. Just like magic, maybe?

"Would you feel different about me if you knew that I had been through initiation?" Morgana asked, frozen in the nervous anticipation of Alvarr's response.

"It's... it's very unlikely that you would've found me interesting if you were a priestess. A real priestess, I mean, the one that had undergone complete training."

"Why?"

"I don't know why. It must be the magic of the Isle that influences the priestess's mind. You can know better than me. Priestesses offer their bloody, flesh and bones to the Triple Goddess. In the end of the training, a High Priestess is not exactly a woman."

"Pardon?"

"Her flesh, her blood and her bones are not hers. They belong with the Goddess. With magic. All that's left to her is her will, but how free is that will? How free is it from the cult?"

"My will is strong,” Morgana assured him. “I will not let my freedom succumb to anybody or anything. No cult will ever claim my will, I promise you, Alvarr."

Still, his talks were frightening her. It was beginning to dawn upon her how irretrievable her journey to the deepest secrets of the Isle of the Blessed could be. Alvarr cleared his throat and threw more wood into the fire, letting the orange sparks rise in a whirlwind.

"Besides, legends speak only of one time when..."

"When what?"

"When a dragonlord and a priestess fell in love and trust me, it didn't end well for both of them," his tone was sad.

"Tell me about it, please. I would love to hear you tell a legend."

"Oh, it's not a legend, Morgana. There was a girl who was born in the Meredoc tribe, she was promised to the Goddess. She was destined to become a priestess. But she didn't want it and ran away. She met this dragonlord prince in the woods, and they fell in love. He introduced her to the druids, told them he’d marry her. He pleaded her to keep her origins secret, but the druids soon found out she had come from the Isle of the Blessed, and they destroyed the marriage pact and threw her out of the village and forbade her to return. She went back to the Isle of the Blessed and became a priestess, swearing an oath to avenge the druids."

"Did she keep her oath?"

"Oh, make sure she did. She served revenge as befits - when the fire of abuse had already turned to cold embers. She went to serve at the court of Virico, King of Daobeth, spending years on winning his trust."

"Why did she need his trust?"

"She knew the King of Daobeth had long been dreaming of expanding his lands eastward, into the Druid Lands, so rich and so vulnerable. The druids never had army or paid much attention to smithies. They always thought dragons were enough to keep them safe from any invasion. Dragons were in fact the only obstacle that prevented Virico of Daobeth from invading the Druid Lands. The priestess convinced Virico that the secret of dragon's death was known to her, and all she needed was Bird of Phoenix."

"Bird of Phoenix?"

"An Ancient One," Alvarr nodded. "The creature of primary magic. It was thought the bird lived in the Lands of King Branwen, the dragnolord prince our priestess had once fallen in love with. They met again at Virico’s court, and now that Branwen was king himself, he thought nothing could stop him from marrying this priestess. She agreed to marry him, demanding a living Bird of Phoenix as a betrothal gift. When she got it, she charmed the knights of Medihr to terrorize the druid lands, as she thought that the druids would send all their dragons against such a terrible force. But they only sent two, which she killed. However, four remained alive, and the weapon she had used to slaughter the dragons could only be used once. The revenge of the four surviving dragons turned the castle of Daobeth into ruins where King Virico was cooked alive. King Branwen’s land suffered decay from the curse - killing a bird of Phoenix is a grave crime against the old ways."

"But he didn't kill it…"

"He captured it and handed it to the murderer,” Alvarr shrugged. “Mayhaps his crime was not as grave as hers, and the land was not destroyed completely. Some say that King Branwen is still alive, cursed to live for eternity and watch his kingdom turn to wasteland and nothingness. The Perilous Land."

The story was indeed sad, and was hardly a good example of love between druids and priestesses. 

"Why didn't the druids allow them to marry? Things would've been so much better!" Morgana complained.

"The feud between the druids and the Isle of the Blessed runs deep."

"Why? Is it because the priestesses practice blood magic?" Morgana asked, remembering the bits of wisdom Morgause had shared with her after the Triskelion gathering.

"No. Although it does matter a little. It's a lot more... ancient. You know that when first people arrived at Albion, they possessed no magic whatsoever?"

"Then how comes we have magic now?"

"We gained it. Some tribes of men found the Lake of Avalon, where the Sidhe resided. The land of Albion was a horrid place for men at that time. It had deep lush forests where magic creatures of all kinds dwelled. All these creatures were hostile to men. And so men prayed to the Sidhe and asked them to grant them magic to help defend themselves from the creatures in the woods. The Sidhe agreed on one condition only - men had to sacrifice an innocent soul to the Lake of Avalon every year, on the day of the longest night."

"The tribe grew in size and soon there were many people living by the Lake of Avalon, practicing magic. The conflict erupted when some people in this tribe suggested to use magic to bring order to other tribes of men, tribes who knew nothing of magic and who were warring against each other. There was immediately a split. Some people in the Avalon tribe said that it was a smart idea. They advocated using magic power to make other non-magic tribes abide by their will. Magic could be a tool to bring order, they said. Others thought that magic could only serve its initial purpose, which was to defend men from the dangerous creatures in the forests. However, in the end, those who favored the use of magic to bring order into other tribes, prevailed."

"But the minority had their own plan,” Alvarr continued. “They condemned the use of magic to rule non-magic tribes. They were vastly outnumbered, and that’s why they turned to dragons for aide. Dragons were the wisest and mightiest creatures of all, creatures who could not be easily thwarted by magic. Unlike the Sidhe, dragons were mortal. The minority of Avalon tribe promised dragons immortality if the dragons agreed to serve them and abide by their will. Seven dragons agreed. So one night, men from the minority captured the Sidhe and killed him in a ritual that was meant to make seven dragons immortal and obedient to the will of seven men. That was how the dragonlords were born."

"The Sidhe were furious when they discovered what had happened. Their wrath was terrible, and many people were slain for the death of the fellow Sidhe. When it was clear that there could be no force to stop the Sidhe furry, one of the dragonlords decided to seal the gates to Avalon, sacrificing an immortal dragon and his own life for this purpose. After the gates had been sealed, the Sidhe were exiled out of the world of men forever. The remaining dragonlords commanded six great dragons and thus held formidable power, but they intended to use it only to defend themselves against dangerous creatures of the forests. After the sealing of Avalon gates, dragonlords banished the majority of Avalon tribe, making all those who had previously vowed to use magic to rule non-magic tribes flee west."

"People who got exiled from the Lake of Avalon went westward. Many have died on the way, but finally, they found a small lake in the westmost point of Landshire. It took many generations to build a castle in the center of that pool, and that's how the Isle of the Blessed was born."

"So the feud began because of views on ruling?" Morgana couldn’t believe such an issue could serve as the cause for break-up of the magic tribes.

"In essence, yes. After the majority has been banished from Avalon, people who remained there styled themselves as druids. They have been ruled by dragonlords for centuries and they have always been against magic playing part in politics. Dragons have rarely been used as weapons - they mostly remained the guarantees for peace. Druids enjoyed peace. They’d gladly enjoy it now. That’s why I don't think Iseldir will be piss happy about Morgause’s plans to start a whole war because of the ban on magic."

Not that I am happy about it either. But it was Uther who waged war on magic first. If we don’t respond now, others like Vyda Gaheris might want to start another purge.

"Is there anything about this Iseldir you think I should know before talking to him?" Morgana asked, feeling uneasy about meeting the leader of the Essetir tribes.

"Whatever I can tell you about him will serve no purpose. He is one of the mightiest sorcerers to live. Some say he has mastered the art of twinkling."

"Of what?"

"Disappearing in one place and appearing in the other at the same moment."

"A whirlwind spell?"

"No. It's quicker than a whirlwind spell and doesn't cost such power to the warlock or witch who uses it. Don't ask me how he has mastered it, I don't know. If there is one thing you are to know about him... Well, don't play any games with him. He has a gift of seeing through people. Abandon all manners and courtesies. Speak frankly, and he will be frank in return. And try not to mention your sister's name, if possible."